


please and thank you

by TroglodyteMonologue



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Clothed Sex, Drama, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mid season 4, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Top Keith (Voltron), clone shiro - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: “I’m not gonna lie and say this isn’t a diversion tactic,” Keith confesses, “The problem will still be there. But I want this. And I think you need this." He doesn’t usually proposition Shiro so boldly. He doesn’t just put his desire out, plain as day, for someone to judge.But Keith has to admit, he likes the way Shiro looks up at him, mouth parted in awe.“Do you want me to stop?” Keith asks, just to be sure.“No,” Shiro answers, “I missed you. I missed you so much.”Keith is called back to the Castle when Shiro has a violent episode. He deals with it the best way he knows how.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 129





	please and thank you

"Where is he now?” Keith asks. 

He jumps from the cockpit of his Marmoran pod and hits the cold floor almost running. Anticipating his arrival, Allura meets him halfway across the hangar. He moves with a speed and purpose she can barely match.

“In his room,” Allura says. Unease sets in her brow and a few locks of white hair dangle loose from her bun. She turns on her heel and catches Keith’s stride. “We’ve all taken our turns trying to get through, but he feels shut off from us now. If he’s going to listen to anyone, it’s going to be you.” 

Keith feels a pang deep in his chest. Like guilt, but worse.

It’s a hard thing to imagine: Shiro out of control. 

Keith knows Shiro like he knows how to breathe: inside and out. So effortless, so sure. From the moment they met, Shiro was the picture of composure. So easy and calm, taking everything — including Keith’s fiery temper — in stride. But ever since Shiro returned to them, rescued from a lonely stretch of space in a stolen Galra fighter, Shiro had been...different. Keith never said anything to the others, never wanted to sow the seed of doubt in their heads and create a rift in the team. But he saw the subtle changes. Clipped words, hard looks, an uncharacteristically callous outlook on their situation; the new Shiro was sharp around the edges.

“This is war, Keith. We have to make sacrifices,” Shiro once snapped at him, eyes like cold steel. Keith didn’t recognize him.

The new Shiro has him gasping for air, desperately trying to tread water while he learned to navigate something that was once innate. Loving Shiro was never hard. The universe outside was so cruel and complicated, so they made sure their own slice of it was not. 

When things got too hard, Keith left. His thin excuse: they had the paladins Voltron required and Keith wanted to train with the Blades. But the reality was that Shiro was slipping through his fingers, replaced by a stranger with his face and body but none of the warmth and benevolence. And Keith couldn’t cope, so he ran away. Shiro didn’t even try to stop him. 

“He threw the table _across_ the room, Keith. It _shattered_.” Allura’s concern is palpable, but it’s her fear that surprises Keith most. The warrior princess is never afraid of anything. They round a corner and head down the hall for the crew quarters. “I didn’t know what else to do. We tried talking him down — He has these episodes. They’ve gotten so much worse — You must know, this was our last resort. You know I wouldn’t do this unless absolutely necessary.” 

Keith nods, “I know.” If there is one thing Allura is not, it’s inhumane. And Keith knows she isn’t to blame. He puts that unfair weight on his own shoulders.

They come to a stop in front of Shiro’s door. Just a bedroom, not a prison cell.

Allura’s expression is painted with anguish when she says, “We love him.” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself of the fact, rather than Keith.

“I know.” In a gesture unlike himself, Keith reaches out and touches a hand to the princess’s arm. Instead of bolstering her spirits, it seems to deflate them more. “How long has he been in there?” he asks.

“A little over two hours.” She averts her eyes to the floor. “Keith, we had to restrain him. His arm — ”

Keith pulls his touch away. Anger bubbles in his chest on instinct and Keith has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep it in. Because the logical part of him — the part Shiro spent so many years cultivating — tells him that she is doing the best she can. “I trust you, Allura.”

Allura clasps her hands together and looks him in the eye. “Just, be careful,” she says, “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”

He won’t. Keith knows the solution lies somewhere between himself and Shiro.

The young Blade waits until Allura’s echoing footsteps fade, taking those moments to find and catalogue the best words to say. Nevertheless, he is entering uncharted territory. Like he is predisposed to do, Keith expects the worst. He sucks in a deep breath and knocks on the door, mouth drawn in a thin, grim line. No response. Keith presses his hand to the keypad.

Red flashes green and the metal slab slides open to reveal a dark and barren room, unchanged since Keith’s last visit. A sliver of hallway light stretches across the floor and splashes across Shiro’s boots. They lay sideways and strewn apart; a bad omen. Because Keith knows how Shiro usually props his boots up with ritualistic care. The door slides shut and the locking mechanism clicks into place after Keith steps inside.

“I knew they would call you,” comes a ragged voice he barely recognizes. 

The shell sitting on the edge of the bed, arms pulled behind his back, looks like Shiro. But when his eyes turn up, Keith thinks he catches a glowing, purple flicker — like the predatory gaze of a nocturnal animal. A trick of the mind, Keith reasons. The only sources of light come from the streaks of neon built into the walls and Shiro’s Galran arm. The prosthetic’s circuitry glows and pulses a bright magenta, overloaded with energy from the suppressor cuff locked around his metal bicep. Shadows can play all sorts of tricks. Keith thinks he sees a smirk on Shiro’s face, but as he draws nearer — more aware of the distance between than ever before — the grin vanishes.

Shiro looks tired.

“They’re worried about you,” Keith says. His tone is casual, as if they had seen each other just the other day. As if they hadn’t just begun an interrogation. 

He crosses to a dresser at the furthest point of the room and makes a deliberate show of removing the holster around his chest. Even across the room, Shiro’s breathing is heavy and his thoughts are loud. Keith tries to be as quiet as possible. He wraps the straps around the sheathed blade and sets it down before peeling away his gloves. It is a gesture of peace and good intentions.

Keith turns. The dents on the back of the bedroom door catch his eye. Deep, angry marks the size of a human hand in the strong Altean metal are a testament to Allura’s story. Keith can barely wrap his head around what he sees. 

He feels as if he’s walked into a lion’s den. Keith has been in far worse situations, of course; so he keeps a steady head. His eyes slide across the room. “What is going on, Shiro?” he asks. 

Shiro shrouds his face in darkness when he bows his head. Keith wonders if the suppressor causes him any pain. “...I don’t know,” the man says. The admission pulls the tether tied to Keith’s heart. It’s an honest answer. Though he wouldn’t entirely recognize a lie if he heard it tumble from Shiro’s lips. Everything the man says is gospel to Keith.

“Could you get me some water?” Shiro asks. The appeal is so sad and simple; Keith won’t dare refuse.

Another tug pulls Keith in the direction of the open bathroom door. The skeptical streak in him can’t help but consider whether Shiro is intentionally pulling those strings. Like the puppeteer of a marionette. 

The lights buzz when he flips the switch. It is similar to Earth’s fluorescents, only higher pitched. Two drill holes where the mirror used to be stare back at him, but he thinks little of it in the moment. Keith dumps Shiro’s toothbrush to the side and washes out the sediment gathered at the bottom with the soap at his disposal. The task focuses his thoughts, gives him time to consider the situation, but he is keenly aware of the eyes on his back.

Through the open doorway, Shiro watches him. It is part of their history, their dynamic. He has watched Keith learn how to fly; watched him train and fail and get back up again. Shiro has watched his back for years, supervised his growth and well being from up close and afar. And on occasion, in those few private moments they get to themselves, Shiro has nervously asked to watch Keith touch himself. Keith is comfortable with it; feels loved by the attention and those soft, gray eyes. But the gaze Keith knows is fixed on his shoulder blades feels different. He feels… _hunted_.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Shiro says. The small talk feels misplaced, almost calculated on Shiro’s part. But it feels wrong to deny the man a civil conversation.

“Yeah, two weeks almost.” Keith wishes he could watch the other man through the missing mirror.

“Three, Keith,” Shiro corrects.

“Huh, time flies when you’re...saving the universe, I guess. Kolivan’s been keeping me busy.”

“Are you...enjoying your work with the Blades? Do they ever treat you like an outsider?” 

There it is: sharp edges jutting out of Shiro’s words like broken glass. They press against Keith’s skin; remind him of his greatest insecurity. And Shiro presents them wrapped up in care, disguised as concern.

“Sometimes,” Keith answers honestly. He grabs a clean towel to wipe out the cup. “It might be easier if I looked a little more Galran. When I keep my mask on, I think a lot of them forget. But I still get comments on my height.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat. Keith never had a good sense of humor. He shrugs, “Most of them never hold back in training. Or on missions. I appreciate that. But I think Kolivan keeps me off the most dangerous ones just in case something changes between you and Black and I have to return to Voltron.”

Keith has a few sharp words of his own. They must dig into Shiro like Keith intended because the man goes quiet for a moment. 

“Where has he sent you?” Shiro finally asks and the turn in subject feels more like prying than general curiosity. “I tried to call you a few times last week and never —”

Guilt greets Keith like an old friend. He slams the cup down on the sink, almost cracking it with the force. “Look Shiro, there are a lot of things I can’t tell you. And if I’m on a long mission, I’m not gonna respond. That’s just how the Blades do business. It’s how we stay safe. You just have to leave a message with the nearest base,” he says. Keith knows he is being unfair. But he is tense and he lashes out when he is scared. Shiro knows that all too well.

A quiet moment falls. And then:

“...you came when _they_ called.”

Guilt shakes his hand; pulls him into a tight embrace. Keith can remember, with painful detail, how he ignored Shiro’s hailings while he flew back from a mission a week ago. His gray eyes and square chin flashed up on the screen against the dark, nebulous galaxy ahead. Keith remembered Antok saying he could step into the cargo bay to give them some privacy. But Keith shook his head and severed the connection with a press of a button. He would call back later, Keith told himself. Then he never did.

Keith wasn’t ready to confront the stranger with Shiro’s face. He still isn’t. He stares at the holes in the wall, grips the sides of the sink, and imagines the expression Shiro makes to his back. Wide eyed and hurt — betrayed even, by the one person in the whole universe who loves him most.

Hot breath ghosts against the skin of Keith’s neck and he realizes he has made the mistake of dropping his guard. 

The warmth that presses to his back is big and familiar, filling him with an affection he desperately missed. “M’sorry,” Keith says on instinct. Their delicate push and pull is littered with moments like this; Keith snapping unnecessarily and Shiro pulling him back in with a kind touch. Keith tilts his head and leans back, allows himself to take comfort in the proximity. For a moment, he forgets why Allura called him in the first place. Three weeks without any physical intimacy is long, even by their standards. He wants to fall into Shiro’s arms and find solace there.

But that strong, sure embrace never comes. The suppressor cuff whirs from a sudden surge of power and makes him remember the situation at hand like a slap to the face.

Keith freezes when chapped lips press against his neck at the edge of his Marmoran suit. Keith might have enjoyed the peppered kisses if he wasn’t so hyper fixated on the teeth just behind Shiro’s lips. He grazes his parted mouth along Keith’s jugular, sending a shiver down Keith’s spine that would have normally gone straight to his groin. Instead, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.

The real Shiro would have kissed him on the lips first.

Keith has never been afraid of Shiro. The man is one of the most brilliant and talented minds Keith has ever met. He has the power of an atomic weapon in his arm. He is skilled with almost any weapon and deadly in hand-to-hand combat. By all accounts, the Black Paladin is someone to be feared. But Keith trusts him implicitly. Used to. Still does. Keith doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is the teeth that suddenly nip at the soft underside of his jaw are threatening in a way they never were before.

“I missed you,” Shiro mouths against his skin.

“Shiro, I don’t know if this is —”

The man behind Keith stills. The warmth of his mouth disappears and a forehead leans heavily against Keith’s lean shoulder. “ _Please_ , not you too.”

Tension eases from Keith’s body because, for the first time, it _feels_ like Shiro. Keith recognizes that sadness; the sorrow Shiro works so tirelessly to hide from his teammates. He only allows that vulnerability to emerge when they are alone, when Shiro knows he won’t be judged. Keith reaches up and places a palm against Shiro’s curved neck. The taller man sighs. 

“Talk to me,” Keith urges, more gently than anything he’s said thus far. He pushes his fingers up over the bristle of Shiro’s undercut and into his longer, black locks.

Shiro swallows loud enough for Keith to hear. “I really scared them, Keith. They looked at me like I was some sort of — _monster_.”

“You’re not.” His reaction is immediate, formed with unshakeable certainty. If a shred of the original Shiro is there, he couldn’t be anything but a good man. A stranger, but still good.

The first time Shiro came back to Keith, he was broken and battered. The champion of an alien coliseum on the other side of the universe and the lab rat of some sadistic Galran scientist, it took Shiro a long time to come to terms with the person he had become. When he was ready, Shiro confessed to unspeakable acts with a shame so heavy it racked Shiro’s body with sobs. With a constitution like that, Shiro could never be a monster. If he ever was, it would never be of his own making.

Keith pulls away and revolves, meeting his partner’s gaze. It’s Shiro. Keith is almost sure of it. “You’re not a monster,” he repeats.

“I think I might be,” the man falters. The lines on his face are carved deeper than Keith remembers; the spaces underneath his eyes more hollowed out. “You’re scared of me too.”

Keith shakes his head, “No, I’m not.” He reaches up and brushes the strands of white hair tacked to Shiro’s forehead by sweat. The man’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he savors the touch. 

Stars, Keith loves him. He’s not ready to say it aloud, but he knows Shiro’s name is written on his bones.

The older man opens his eyes. “I can see it in your face,” he insists. Suddenly, Keith’s Shiro is gone again. His attitude is too forward, too abrasive; eyes just a little bit too narrow.

Keith feels trapped against the sink. Not-Shiro could have something behind his back. Keith’s blade. Kolivan taught him better than that. Keith should have never left it out in the open. And if there was anyone who could find a way to fight with his hands tied, it would be Shiro. Keith presses back and the sink’s edge digs painfully into the small curve of his spine. Still, he smiles and says, “I’m not scared of anything, you know that.”

The false bravado makes not-Shiro crack a grin.

“C’mon,” Keith says and nods back to the bed with his chin. 

Shiro stalls and his eyes flicker across the features of Keith’s face, searching for something. Keith keeps his expression open, unassuming. Diplomacy and espionage techniques with the Blades are not high priority, but they did teach Keith how to keep calm in the face of intimidation, capture, and torture. Whether Shiro finds what he seeks or not, the man nods and turns to the bedroom.

His cuffed hands are empty.

When Shiro is a few paces away, Keith quickly fills the cup with water from the tap. He collects himself, steadies his fast pulse.

“Why is the mirror gone?” he calls. If Shiro speaks, Keith can gauge distance.

He is somewhere near his bed when he answers, “I, um, I don’t know. Coran said he needed to replace it.”

For the first time in their long history, Keith recognizes a lie. It’s bold faced and sticks out like a sore thumb. Keith doesn’t know why his partner would lie about something as mundane as a mirror, but he doesn’t press. He’ll ask Coran later.

With glass in hand, Keith flips the lightswitch and returns to the bedroom. Shiro stands near the bed like Keith expected, but he doesn’t make a move to sit. Instead, he turns and offers his cuffed hands. They used heavy restrains. Shiro’s forearms are locked together, encased in metal from wrist to elbow. _You know I wouldn’t do this unless absolutely necessary_ , echoes Allura’s voice. Keith holds himself back, against his instincts and his love for Shiro.

“Sit down, Shiro,” Keith says. Whether or not he intended it, his words cut and drain the strength from the paladin’s shoulders.

“You _are_ scared of me,” the man says without looking. 

“Shiro, please — ”

“It’s okay. I’ve been a prisoner before, I know how it goes.” 

The singular phrase makes Keith physically ill. Because he remembers all the horrors Shiro told him about Galra captivity. The dark, the stench, the wounds that never heal — in a quiet, intimate moment long passed Keith vowed he would never let that happen to the man he loved again. He tells himself that this treatment does not break that promise; that what Keith does now is not unwarranted cruelty. He still feels nauseous and he loses some of the determination to keep an arm's distance.

Shiro keeps his gaze to the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s just as well because Keith steps forward and tips Shiro’s head up with his free hand. Maintaining eye contact at such close proximity would have been painful. He holds the glass steady as Shiro takes large gulps and the intimate nature of the act is not lost on him. 

A droplet escapes the corner of Shiro’s mouth, trickles over his jaw, and down his neck. Keith pulls the cup away and gently wipes the moisture from the man's lips and chin. The soft gesture has done nothing to appease the dark, churning thoughts behind Shiro’s gray eyes and Keith feels their fragile connection slipping through his fingers.

His Shiro is there somewhere. Keith just needs to find a way to bring him out again. And he knows he must take a risk or two to do so.

Keith stoops and presses his lips to Shiro’s. The kiss is brief; the type of fleeting affection they share when saying ‘goodluck’ to one another in the hangar. When they used to hop in their respective lions and fly into certain death. It brings some light back to Shiro’s eyes and Keith holds on to that glimmer, even though the sensation of his lips is mostly foreign. 

It is the first kiss they have shared in nearly a month. Keith wonders if not-Shiro realizes this. If he knows Keith waited in his pod for thirty minutes, so sure his Shiro would come and give him a goodbye kiss and a private farewell. He had felt so silly, so foolish, as he flew away with a heavy heart. Keith holds it against Shiro. And will do so, quietly, for a very long time.

Keith leaves the water cup on Shiro’s desk and brings the desk chair to sit at the bedside. The seat feels cold even through his thick Marmoran uniform and their knees knock together with the slightest movement. Keith knows he should move further away. But Shiro responded so well to the kiss, he thinks physical intimacy might be the best approach. He tells himself it is a strategy; that he isn’t falling back into Shiro’s gravity.

When he sits so close, Keith can see every fleeting emotion on Shiro’s darkened face. His long eyelashes. A mole near his temple — the only blemish Keith has ever found on his perfect face. When they sit so close, Keith’s heart aches. Because they often sit this way after a battle, bandaging each other’s wounds and murmuring secrets between them long into the endless night.

“Tell me what’s going on. Help me understand. Allura said you — ”

“I know what I did,” Shiro snaps, defensively. Then, a little softer, “But I don’t know why.” He expresses more anger than defeat; biting at his words and pushing against his restraints. Keith does his best not to flinch.

Shiros eyes move everywhere — across the floor, to the hem of Keith’s suit, to a point on the wall across the room. Anywhere but Keith’s eyes. The air feels thick.

“I’m so _angry_ ,” Shiro admits, “I’m so angry and confused all the time. I’m seeing things that don’t make sense. Feeling things I never used to feel. It isn’t right. It’s like — it’s like I’m living some nightmare. Over and over. And every time I wake up, I can’t remember what the nightmare was about. But the feeling is still there, hanging over me. I know it doesn’t make sense. And I know it’s no excuse.”

It is a strange, muddled confession. And not entirely helpful. Keith can’t even begin to comprehend, but it’s a start. At least they still have a frayed tether in their favor. Keith’s first guess is that Shiro’s PTSD is catching up with him. His other guess is that the Galra did something to him while he was in captivity the second time. 

Keith swallows the lump in his throat. “What are you seeing? Like hallucinations?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s — Keith, it’s so hard to explain. It sounds crazy.” 

_Crazy_. Such a dangerous word. It was on the tip of Allura’s tongue when she explained Shiro’s incident and Keith would have snapped at her had she used it. 

The young Blade cautiously reaches out his hands and places his calloused palms atop Shiro’s knees. His partner’s body feels the same — strong, solid muscle. Keith is struck by a nagging, greedy thought as his thumbs massage circles against the inner parts of Shiro’s knees: he _wants_ Shiro. After three weeks, Keith desperately wants him. It’s why he initially responded so well to the lips against his neck; why he so willingly touches not-Shiro now.

 _Fucking selfish_ , he thinks. His young hormones can’t even keep it together in crisis.

Keith stills his hands. “Try to explain it,” he says with a new focus on his face. 

Shiro takes several long moments finding the words to say. He shakes his head, shifts his weight, and does everything to avoid looking at Keith again. “When I… look at something — anything — I feel different than what I used to feel. A place. A ship. Even something as...mundane as my coffee mug. I don’t _feel_ the same about it.”

Allura told Keith the story as he raced across the quadrant. Pidge had been experimenting with part of the teludav system, trying to extend the reach to the far corners of the galaxy so no outpost was out of range. Instead, she crashed it. According to Allura, it was an honest, fixable mistake. But when they were suddenly grounded, unable to start their next mission, Shiro went off the rails. It started with assigning blame and the Black Paladin’s mood escalated so quickly, the team could barely dodge his fury. Keith doesn’t know how throwing a table out of rage and a mug could be related.

So he asks, “You feel angry at your mug?”

The oversimplification frustrates Shiro. “That’s not — Don’t make fun of me — ”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Keith presses in earnest. His words have the tendency to sound like an accusation and it is something Keith is actively working on. He slides his hands further until his fingers curve around Shiro’s thighs; close enough to hear the older man push air through his nose. “Please, help me understand.”

Shiro sucks in a breath. 

“It feels like it belongs to someone else,” he says. “The mug. I don’t _recognize_ it. It doesn’t feel right in my hands.”

Keith’s heart skips a beat. “Okay. Do you think it’s because of what happened before you came back?” he asks. Keith is lost in Shiro’s fragmented thoughts, so he grasps at straws. If he keeps Shiro talking maybe something will start to make sense. Maybe they will finally get to the core of the problem.

“No. I don’t know. I still can’t remember any of that.”

“What if it’s something unconscious? You remembered a Galra ship when you woke up. Maybe they did something — ”

“Maybe it’s not the Galra, Keith. Maybe there’s just something wrong with _me_ ,” Shiro snaps.

Self deprecation and blame does not suit Shiro. It comes out forced, petulant even, and Keith thinks it’s the first time Shiro acts his age. Keith hates it. More than the anger and his too narrow eyes and the glass shards around his words. Because if there is anything Keith is good at, it is being aggressively and blindly protective of Shiro. Especially if the accusing party is Shiro himself.

“Maybe this is a side effect of — ”

Keith knows exactly what Shiro is going to say, but he hates it so much that he interrupts, “Don’t. We’re going to figure this out. We always do.”

All the resources in the universe, and they still haven’t found a cure. Keith can only take one problem at a time.

Shiro shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more. There is a crack in his resolve and Keith can sense the war waging inside him. He blinks more than usual. If his arms were free, Shiro would be bent over with his face in his hands.

The moments tick by and the young Blade waits, against his nature, patiently. The hum of the suppressor cuff is almost deafening. Keith rubs his thumbs in circles on Shiro’s thighs and feels the tension slowly ease from the man's muscles. But if Keith is being honest with himself, touching Shiro does more to soothe his own nerves rather than the Black Paladin’s. Shiro still won’t look directly at him for long. 

“...I’m so exhausted, Keith,” he eventually says into the quiet.

No one, not even Keith, ever truly gives Shiro enough credit. Whenever they are in dire straits, Shiro is the one they all look to for guidance. Even Allura. As the natural leaders of the group, Shiro and Allura regard one another as true equals. But when stress and stakes are at their peak, Shiro makes the final call. He is the first to wake for training and often the person who shuts off the common area lights at the end of the day. He rallies the team; instills hope when there is none. And Shiro sacrifices little slivers of himself every day in more subtle ways, allowing others to have more freedom while he takes on more responsibility. He has done so without complaint — without so much as a crack in his diligence — for nearly a year since they were hurled into space against their will.

Shiro had to reach a limit eventually. Keith has seen him skirt the edge for a long, long time.

“I know,” Keith says, with a heaviness in his heart. He will never truly understand. From his rough childhood, Keith has learned to never give away pieces of himself; to always put his own needs and wants above others. He is selfish, aloof, and will bite off the hand of anyone who says otherwise. But when Shiro, even not-Shiro, looks so worn — Keith understands plenty.

“Feeling this way...on top of it all...I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Shiro glances up at something over Keith’s shoulder, gaze lingering for a few moments.

It’s a peculiar thing to do and Keith chances a look. The two holes in the wall above the sink stand out like a neon billboard sign — like a glaring lie.

“Shiro, what happened to the mirror?” Keith’s eyes dare the paladin to try and be dishonest again.

“I took it down,” Shiro answers.

“Why?” 

“I didn’t like what I saw.”

“What did you see?”

“...a stranger,” Shiro meets Keith’s eyes for more than a moment and says, “You see it too.” 

The confession rocks the very foundation Keith stands on. His poker face falters and a mixture of surprise and sadness breaks through in the parting of his lips and the furrowing of his brow. He should say something to reassure Shiro, to ease his troubles. But Keith won’t lie to him. Shiro deserves honesty when his whole world seems so scattered and confused. And part of Keith is glad that they see the same things; that he isn’t just imagining the sudden, painful changes in the man he loves.

Shiro looks scared. The quiet type of scared like when sitting in a waiting room of a hospital, praying and hoping the news is good.

Keith’s last pieces of self restraint fall away at the sight. He can’t imagine the terror of looking into a mirror and seeing someone else. 

“It’s going to be okay, Shiro,” Keith says, even though he doesn’t entirely believe it. He has never been an optimistic, light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel kind of person. Not like Shiro.

Keith hands grasp at the fabric of Shiro’s vest and his chest aches with a longing he had been suppressing for months. He clings to the Black Paladin like a life preserver, like he could solve their problems by just holding on tight enough. Like he could _will_ the remaining pieces of his Shiro to stay by force alone.

It works somehow. Because Shiro breaks through.

“I’m sorry I never came to say goodbye,” he says.

Keith looks up and he recognizes the man in front of him. 

No matter what songs and books claim, Keith knows that suffering is not beautiful. It simply _is_. But what a person does in spite of suffering — that is where the beauty lies. The scars littered across Shiro’s body mark all the times he got back on his feet again after a fall. The dark circles beneath his eyes are evidence of long nights and hard judgements. And his apology speaks volumes of an intellect and understanding nature far beyond his years. He looks pale, overworked, and a rueful smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

But Shiro is suddenly breathtakingly handsome in Keith’s eyes. His gravity is so stronger than ever. Their eyes meet and Keith can’t keep objectively pushing through like a third party. He was doing a rotten job of it anyways. 

“It’s okay,” Keith says.

“No it isn’t. I have no excuse.”

Despite what everyone including Keith may believe, Shiro is just a man. He has limits. A breaking point. And Keith thinks maybe that’s what this stranger is; a defense mechanism to try and compartmentalize all the stress and baggage Shiro carries. Whatever the Galra did to Shiro the second time, it pushed him over the dangerous precipice he had been edging for so long. It’s stress — pure and simple. But the galactic kind. The kill or be killed kind. It’s something very few people could understand, because Shiro is a special case. Just a man, with an extraordinary burden.

Keith can only hypothesize. He doesn’t know what this is, not really. All he knows is that Shiro is hurting and he wants to pull him back onto solid ground.

“Then make it up to me,” Keith says.

Keith kisses Shiro with more fervor than before. He cradles the sharp cuts of Shiro’s jaw in both of his palms and pulls him in. It’s all longing and passion. The type of kiss that quickly heats up and becomes something more. And Keith knows this won’t solve anything. But it couldn’t hurt. If Shiro needs to let off steam and find a release somehow, Keith is willing to supply. 

And secretly, Keith needs it too. 

Shiro’s eyes close and his lips move, but there isn’t any fire or crackle behind the action. He kisses back slowly, trying to coax Keith into something softer and unhurried. Something they can quickly stop and feel no guilt about.

So Keith doubles down.

He pushes into Shiro's space, wraps his arms around his neck, and straddles his legs; knees and shins pressing into the bedding on either side. Keith misses the way it feels; that sweet stretch along the inside of his thighs when Shiro’s weight settles heavily between them. He feels that familiar ache as he lowers onto Shiro’s lap. Even with clothes between them, he can bask in the heat of Shiro’s body. He always runs warm and Keith is always so cold. The proximity is enough to get his blood rushing faster, anticipating the next move.

But Shiro breaks the kiss with a frustrated sound. He tries to squirm away and the lack of eye contact is starting to get under Keith’s skin. 

“Don’t do this because you feel bad for me,” Shiro breathes, “I don’t want anyone’s pity. Especially yours.”

A pang in his heart cuts through Keith’s desire. He leans back. He can’t tell if the man is Shiro or the stranger. His expression is too pained, eyes screwed shut. 

“Look at me,” Keith says. 

Shiro sighs.

“Look at me,” Keith demands.

Shiro opens his eyes. He could never say ‘no’ to something that sounded like a direct order. Keith thinks he can use that to his advantage.

“When you look at _me_ , do you feel different?” he asks.

Shiro looks at Keith and the soft, loving expression gives away his answer even before he puts it to words. All the same, Keith is relieved when his Shiro says, “Of course not.” 

“Does this —” he tangles his fingers into black, short cropped hair and shifts on Shiro’s lap, angling his hips in a way that is unmistakable. “ — feel different?”

Shiro shivers when Keith gently drags his blunt nails over his scalp. “Keith, please.”

“Does it?”

“No.”

“Glad I made a lasting impression.”

“Keith.” The way the man breathes his name, with a weak amount of admonition, reminds Keith of days long passed. It reminds him of warm nights on the Garrison roof and petty fist fights and simulator crashes. Of when they were just a ‘maybe’ or an ‘almost’. 

He cradles Shiro’s head in his hands and forces eye contact. It is easier now that Keith doesn’t give him the choice to run away. 

“I’m not gonna lie and say this isn’t a diversion tactic,” Keith confesses, “The problem will still be there. But I want this. And I think you need this. I want to give it to you.” 

He doesn’t usually proposition Shiro so boldly. Keith does things like hook a finger into Shiro’s belt loop as they walk toward the living quarters or show up uninvited to Shiro’s room and hope his quiet wants are heard. He doesn’t just put his desire out, plain as day, for someone to judge.

But Keith has to admit, he likes the way Shiro looks up at him, mouth parted in awe.

“Do you want me to stop?” Keith asks, just to be sure.

“No,” Shiro answers, “I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

With that, they crash. They kiss and it isn’t forced or strange. It’s passion and heat; enough that Keith doesn’t notice the lack of Shiro’s hands grasping at the shirt on his back like they usually do. Keith makes up for it with his own wandering touches. Up and down the back of Shiro’s neck, across his wide shoulders and to his collar; he makes quick work of the zipper on Shiro’s vest. He palms through the thinner fabric of a skin tight compression shirt, mapping the curves and cuts of Shiro’s chest. Keith knows them all by heart; every line of muscle, every carved scar.

All the while, he marvels at how much he missed just _kissing_ Shiro. Keith misses the soft noises their mouths make each time they meet, the way Shiro’s chest rumbles when he moans, and the thrill of parting Shiro’s lips with his tongue. He will never tire of the dance; the delicate push and pull. 

A few heavy moments later, Shiro pulls away just enough to breathlessly mouth against Keith’s jaw, “Take these off.” 

His shoulders shrug, arms tensing against the restraints and Keith knows Shiro isn’t talking about clothes. Considering their trajectory, the request makes sense. Considering what Keith himself wants, he should give Shiro the dignity. But Keith stalls, remembering the deep gashes in the door behind him. 

Shiro leans in, kisses the tender place beneath his jaw, and gasps, “Please, I just want to touch you. Please.”

His begging hits low, and in a way Keith doesn’t completely understand. But Shiro’s breathy desperation makes him forget about the danger. Keith watches Shiro through heavy eyelashes as he reaches down and back, fingers sliding along his partner’s arms until they touch cool metal. He traces his fingers along the edge of the cuffs, revelling in the contrast between the metallic cold and Shiro’s warmth. The Black Paladin pulls against his restraints again, as if to urge the man on his lap to work faster, and Keith can feel the shift and strain of muscle in his arms. Keith’s hands teasingly pause over the locking mechanism. Ideas strike him like flashes of lightning.

Drunk off an unfamiliar power, he says, “No.”

Shiro buries his face against Keith’s neck. “Please. I can’t — ”

The young Blade unwraps his arms from Shiro’s body, cradles his head, and pulls his head back to look him in the eyes. “Let go, Shiro. Just for tonight,” he pleads. 

It is a lot to ask a man who prides himself on absolute control. The apprehension on Shiro’s face shows as much. But Keith is resolute. He holds Shiro’s jaw in a firm, sure grip; kisses him again, long and languid, to show how much he cares. How eager he is to please.

When they part, Keith whispers, “I’ll take care of you. Please let me.”

Shiro hesitates. He glances at Keith’s lips and swallows thickly. His pupils are blown wide, eclipsing nearly all the soft gray. 

Finally, Keith feels him nod against his grip. “Okay,” Shiro murmurs. 

When it comes down to it, Shiro is confident and romantic in bed. Sweet kisses, a painstakingly tender amount of time spent on undressing, and experienced hands pull Keith apart every time. When Shiro is finished, Keith’s legs are wobbly and his unusually cold body steams with heat. He felt embarrassed the first few times. It was too intense, too emotional for a lone wolf like Keith. But he came to love the heat and the black desire in Shiro’s eyes. 

Not-Shiro commanded more than coaxed. He left Keith feeling less satisfied. Like sex was a means to an end, rather than a pleasure in and of itself. Keith was too spoiled by Shiro's reverence and care to accept anything less than earthshaking magnetism.

So a nervous sigh isn’t enough of an answer for Keith. He wants Shiro to want this. To want him. To be as passionate about receiving adoration as he is in giving it. He wants Shiro to be so overwhelmed he forgets, for just a little while, about the world outside — the problems that will be there long after the comfort of another body is gone.

“Just okay?” Keith asks. He moves a hand to Shiro’s shoulder for leverage and pointedly grinds his hips down. 

Shiro’s mouth drops open. “Keith.”

A surge of electricity rushes through his veins and Keith is struck with the sudden desire to grab a fistful of Shiro’s hair and pull his head back. But he doesn’t think Shiro would like that. Then again, he’s never tried. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” Keith asks again.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” the older man gasps, infinitely more eager than before.

Keith presses their lips together and neither of them hold back. Shiro licks into Keith’s mouth like it gives him control, or the semblance of it, and Keith lets him. It’s sloppy, fun, and everything the younger man has wanted for weeks — months even. Because not-Shiro’s kisses felt choreographed. His Shiro’s kissing is instinctive and enthusiastic. It brings butterflies to Keith’s stomach — like a 90 degree drop on a hoverbike. Keith would have been happy to make out for hours, but the growing bulge pushing against the front of Shiro’s pants can’t be ignored.

So Keith takes back the reins.

With very little ceremony, Keith yanks the hem of Shiro’s shirt from his pants and deft hands work at the belt buckle between them. Keith has undressed Shiro plenty of times, so he doesn’t have to look down to the task at hand. Instead, he fixes his eyes on Shiro’s dreamy expression and allows himself to get excited by the sound of clinking metal as the belt loosens.

“I missed you too, Shiro,” Keith confesses, his words having more meanings than Shiro is probably aware of. “I think about you every day. Think about this.” 

“Me too,” Shiro says. 

Keith smiles and he slides his hand down, over and across a tense expanse of muscle. Shiro’s abdomen tightens and Keith loves the way it feels, how receptive Shiro is to a simple touch. Clearly, they have waited far too long. Keith’s fingers continue, following a slim line of dark hair down to the waistband of Shiro’s underwear. He teases for a few moments, slipping two fingers beneath the elastic band. 

“You ghost me for three weeks and now you’re going to — _Ah!_ ” Shiro gasps against Keith’s cheek.

Even half hard and pressed against Keith’s palm through the fabric of his underwear, the size of Shiro’s cock is obvious. Keith knows this from first hand experience, yet he is still stunned by it — and wildly turned on. But just like everything else worth bragging about, Shiro hardly flaunts it. He knows, of course, and takes his agonizing time working Keith open for it. So thorough with everything in life; working so patiently until Keith is a trembling mess clenching around three fingers, frustratedly begging, ‘ _Just do it already._ ’

But Keith loves it.

He loves the weight of it. The heat. The soft skin so sensitive in hand. Keith rarely gets the chance to revel in it. Shiro is always so concerned about Keith’s pleasure that his own perfect sex goes untouched. It’s a travesty, Keith thinks. But he never has the strength nor will in the moment to push against Shiro’s sure hands and mouth and ask for what he wants. Now, with Shiro’s hands securely locked behind his back, Keith recognizes the opportunity. 

Keith presses his palm against the shaft of Shiro’s growing sex, so warm and wanting. Shiro stifles a moan and Keith feels his own cock twitch beneath his flight suit.

He leans in to brush his lips against the shell of Shiro’s ear and asks, “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

Shiro’s response is uncommonly shy when he stutters out, “Yes.”

Keith smiles and imagines the sight. Shiro laid back against the pillows with his hand fisted around his cock, quietly spilling over his fingers to take the edge off.

“Did you think about me?” Keith asks as he reaches down further. His fingers brush against the tip and he finds a wetness there, a small patch where Shiro is enthusiastically leaking through the fabric. At that juncture, Shiro usually grabs Keith and takes over. But strong hands never grab his ass; never roll him back into the sheets and press him down. The Black Paladin just struggles against the restraints that keep him at bay and pants against Keith’s cheek. Barely touched and words already escape him.

Keith feels the buzz of power beneath his skin, like the first pulses of adrenaline during a fight. An earlier impulse shakes him and he gives into it. The hand against Shiro’s jaw snakes up, nimble fingers card into longer black locks, and Keith latches on. He pulls Shiro’s head back, forces his eyes to look at the ceiling, and the man’s whole body jerks at the sudden ferocity. 

“Mm!” The choked off sound Shiro makes Keith’s heart skip a beat. His own breathing is heavy and labored as his eyes follow the straining lines of Shiro’s neck. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

“Shiro, did you think about me when you touched yourself?” Keith asks again, something more dangerous bordering his voice. He rubs his other hand against the bulge in Shiro’s pants, up and down with his fingers only half wrapped around the shaft through the fabric.

“Yes, yes, I did. Please,” Shiro begs, though Keith isn’t sure what for.

“Please?”

Shiro’s chest heaves. He can’t see his partner's eyes, only his long lashes as he blinks. He licks his lips. 

Shiro doesn’t ask for things. He orders, he leads, he maneuvers. Shiro doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead. So they need to navigate the new ground Keith has laid.

“I need you. Feels like it’s been forever since we — Please, I need you so bad,” the man in his grip says. 

Keith’s chest flutters. Shiro still wants him. Whoever keeps taking control of Shiro’s body can’t take away the force of attraction between them; can’t break the impossible bond they have created. As carnal as the moment is, he finds comfort in it. Because Shiro isn’t just asking for a release of pressure or any other body — he’s asking for Keith.

The young Blade presses his open lips against Shiro’s neck. He senses the hard pulse against his mouth, breathes in scent he could recognize across any galaxy. “You have me, Shiro. I’m not going anywhere,” Keith says. It’s an oath; big, weighty, and he isn’t entirely sure he can keep it all the time, not with a war waging around them. But it is a promise to try harder.

He releases his grip on Shiro's hair and pulls him into a brutal kiss by the back of his neck. Keith leads. He takes and bites and consumes like he wants to suffocate Shiro with his affection. Like he could steal Shiro’s breath from his lungs and bottle it so he never gets this desperate. But Keith gives back in return. He slips his hand beneath the final barrier and takes Shiro in hand. It’s an awkward, tight fit between their laps and Keith is rutting into his own forearm to reach down far enough, but it has the desired effect. 

Shiro goes limp against his kisses, mouth parted, and gasps Keith’s name like a prayer.

At first, Keith thinks that might be enough. Shiro is so tightly wound; so eager and hard, that he might tip over the edge with every pull of his hand. For all the build up, fear, and heartache, a fully clothed, dry handjob doesn’t seem like enough to Keith. He wants more. He wants Shiro to be as wrecked as he is when Shiro has his way. So a few minutes later, when the paladin moans deep and low against his neck, Keith removes his hand from Shiro's pants. The paladin groans again in protest, hips hopelessly bucking upward for the lost friction.

Without a moment of reprieve, Keith flattens his hands against Shiro’s chest and pushes hard. His partner bounces off the bed on impact and Shiro makes a noise Keith interprets as discomfort. He shifts against the comforter, shoulders straining to find a better way to lie on top of large metal cuffs.

“Okay?” Keith asks, ready to pull Shiro up and fix his mistake.

The man nods. “Yeah. This is good. It’s — don’t stop,” he answers, more breathless than usual. 

Keith shifts further up Shiro’s lap, purposefully settling atop the fully grown problem straining against his front. He grinds down, testing the angle, and Shiro bites his bottom lip. The paladin presses his head back against the bedding, body arching up, and his eyes are shiny black, with no sign of the nocturnal glare from before. The only flash of color comes from the long strand of neon light built into the wall. It creates a halo of cool blue around Shiro’s head; his left side highlighted in pulsing magenta from his Galran arm.

Beautiful in form and hazy with desire, Shiro is gorgeous. 

But Keith, in all of his control and dominance, is too embarrassed to say so out loud. It’s too sappy, too much like the praise Shiro showers on him. Keith wants to prove he has some original thoughts in the bedroom. 

So instead, he strips. Keith watches Shiro’s chest rise and fall as he unhurriedly sheds the top layer of his Marmoran armor. Even though he has no idea how to strip-tease, Shiro appears to like what Keith does because he stares right back.

It’s a methodical, somewhat unsexy process with latches and hidden fastenings. But he thinks Shiro might like the disciplined nature of his routine. Shiro is quietly patient, watching each step with steady interest. Chestplate, gauntlets, and shoulder pieces clatter to the floor one by one, breaking through the suppressor cuff’s low hum and their labored breathing. From the waist up, Keith is left in black, body fitted under armor that allows more flexible movement. It’s a process to remove and he can’t be bothered. 

“You’ve never done that before,” Shiro says, voice cracking. 

Keith smiles, sharp and knowing. His hands travel up the smooth expanse of Shiro’s chest, hiking up his partner’s black undershirt to beneath his armpits, and exposing him from waist to collar. “You’ve never given me the chance,” Keith says.

He leisurely trails kisses from Shiro’s navel to his neck, nipping at skin wherever his teeth can find purchase. The deliberately drawn out act makes Keith realize how much he personally aches. How hard and untouched he is trapped in his own suit. When he presses an open mouth to one of Shiro’s pert nipples, the man squirms beneath him and Keith feels his own abdomen tighten. He shamelessly grinds his hips down against Shiro, in need of some pressure. Keith rolls his tongue against the sensitive nub before biting down, teasing just hard enough to elicit a gasp.

Keith likes it. With Shiro at the helm, his pleasure is immediate. He just has to lay back and enjoy himself. In their switched roles, he gets to take what he wants. And Keith is aggressive by nature, so it comes instinctively to him. Maybe it is the Galra part of him. He loves when Shiro worships him but this — Shiro laid prone beneath him, quivering and submissive — it feeds a desire Keith never knew existed.

“You’ve never given me the chance to do this either,” he says, and ducks his head down to give the second nipple the same attention.

“I didn’t think — _mm!_ — you wanted to,” Shiro responds. His body trembles, overstimulated and wanting.

Keith lets the second dark nub slide from between his teeth as he pulls up and looks at Shiro. He places his hands on either side of Shiro’s head and bows over his body, boxing him against the bed and forcing direct eye contact. Shiro is flushed, only barely undressed, and already looks thoroughly fucked out of his mind. 

“I want all of you, Shiro,” Keith says, “I always have.”

Shiro strains against his position and his lips meet Keith’s halfway. It distracts Keith him from the fact that he basically confessed his love without explicitly saying the right words. He feels suddenly emotional. Something flutters inside his chest; something more complex than lust or romantic love.

Keith breaks the kiss and gazes down at Shiro like a man possessed. “Come back to me,” he says, though he doesn’t fully understand why. He feels driven to speak the words. Like an impulse; like the burst of innate understanding when he speaks to Red or Black and they answer back.

“I’m trying,” Shiro chokes out.

It’s a flash in the pan moment that disappears and goes to the back of Keith’s consciousness when they crash to make out again. But he will remember it later, much later when the war is at its peak, and finally understand.

When Keith is sated with kisses, panting against Shiro’s mouth, and too heated to think straight, he breaks away and sits on his haunches. “Don't go anywhere,” the Blade says. 

He shuffles backward and onto his feet, eyes never leaving the sight of Shiro until he turns for the chest of drawers across the room. Even just for a moment, it is physically painful to walk away — for more than one reason. With his legs spread wide around Shiro’s hips, Keith’s hard on is less noticeable. Now, as he crosses the room, his suit is far too tight and the pressure is almost painful.

But the distance from Shiro’s simmering heat clears his head like a breath of fresh air. He opens the top drawer, pushes aside the clean underwear and socks, and procures a container of lube. The contents have noticeably depleted since he last saw it. But before he can get aroused by the vision of Shiro jacking off, Keith is hit with a sobering reminder of why he returned to the castle in the first place. His knife and its sheath sit atop the dresser where he left them, waiting at the ready just in case. 

Keith turns to look over his shoulder and Shiro is moving, shuffling to lay back along the length of the bed rather than across it. He swings his legs up, puts his head on the pillows, and waits. Shiro stares at the ceiling and Keith can tell he’s falling back into heavy, serious thoughts. Which is exactly what he does not want.

Keith returns to the side of the bed, knocks off his boots, and slides onto the mattress near Shiro’s feet. He knows Shiro expects him to sit on his lap again, so he purposefully surprises him. He pushes between Shiro’s legs with his knees and they part with little coaxing. Black eyes watch him as he shifts into place against Shiro’s hips, strong thighs spread and propped over Keith's own slender legs. Shiro’s size is unmistakable now; the bulge in his underwear presses out through the open zipper of his pants and Keith openly stares. He wishes he could immortalize the sight, but he knows a picture would never do Shiro’s exquisiteness any justice.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, and shakes the young warrior from his stupor.

“Sorry, got distracted,” he grins.

Keith snakes Shiro’s belt from the pant loops and tosses it aside before hooking his fingers around the waistband of both layers and tugging. They drop only a few inches, but it’s enough. Free of its confines, Shiro’s cock springs up and lands against his bare abdomen. The paladin sighs in relief. 

Keith never understood why people would describe people’s cocks as 'pretty' or 'nice'. They served a purpose and he liked how they felt, end of story. But when he laid eyes on Shiro, his opinion took a 180 degree turn. Shiro’s fully extended sex is straight and thick; large enough that Keith’s fingers can't touch when he grips it around the shaft. He would be a bold faced liar if he said he didn’t like the way that felt or the way it stretched him open. The skin of it is smooth, sensitive, and soft to the touch. It’s flushed from base to tip, rock hard and ready, and simply — lovely. 

Keith’s own eagerness overshadows his desire to tease and impress. He pours a thin stream of lubricant directly on Shiro’s perfect cock, tosses the container aside, and takes his partner in hand with little fanfare. 

Shiro’s eyes roll back and his head falls back against the pillow with a subdued moan. He wholeheartedly gives in to Keith’s care and touch. His expression softens and twists with each slow pump of his partner's hand. 

And Keith takes his time. He savors the heavy heat against his palm, keeps his grip tender and relaxed. He watches with libertine fascination as a small measure of precum pearls at Shiro’s tip and drips over the back of his fingers. The thought of leaning down and lapping up the spill makes his own cock twitch. But he knows Shiro would cum the moment his lips brushed against the responsive head of his sex. 

So Keith keeps stroking from base to tip, speeding up in unnoticeable increments and rotating his grip until Shiro’s cock slides through his grasp at a steady, brisk pace. He moves with unmatched focus, determined to draw out Shiro’s pleasure as long as possible. A few minutes in and the paladin beneath him is panting, eyelashes fluttering, and straining his back to look down at Keith’s work. If Shiro stood at the precipice before, he now has his toes hanging off the ledge, leaning dangerously into the pressure of a climax. 

“ _K-Keith — I — I’m gonna — Please — So close —_ ” Shiro babbles.

Keith takes the risk and hesitates. Four pulls in and Shiro’s stomach muscles clench beneath Keith’s stationary, unoccupied hand. He takes it as the final signal. Quickly, he moves his grip to the shaft just below Shiro’s head and squeezes. Not ruthlessly, but just firm enough to stop the tide.

Shiro’s body jerks, legs clenching around Keith’s hips, and he chokes out a graceless, “ _Fuck!_ ” at the ceiling.

Keith holds fast, pushing Shiro down into the bed as he trembles and levels out. “Hold on for me. Not yet. We’re not done yet. Hold on,” he says, so gentle and soft in comparison to his grip. 

But Keith also has to hold himself back. Intoxicated by the power he carries over Shiro, Keith feels like he could cum practically untouched. The sight of Shiro’s fucked out expression, the quivering of his body on the brink, and the feeling of a singular pulse from his cock — it’s almost too much. Keith almost bucks his hips forward into the backs of Shiro’s thighs to tumble over his own edge in the frenzy of it all. But he restrains himself with the fragments of self control he has left.

Shiro practically sobs as they wait for him to come down. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. The block Keith makes is successful and his partner’s cock never spills. Keith leans over and kisses Shiro’s jaw, cheeks, and lips. The paladin barely responds. At a little under a minute, he finally eases the pressure.

“Please, I can’t — I can’t take — ” Shiro gasps. His glossy, dark gaze is unsteady and he gulps in air like he almost drowned. “ — anymore. Just need you to — _hm!_ — anything. Please, Keith. _Fuck_ — it hurts.”

His begging pure divination to Keith’s ears. He thinks it’s the first time Shiro’s mind has stopped whirring with complicated thoughts; that he exists completely in the present with just his overwhelming desire and the man he wants. It’s true for Keith as well. Nothing else exists outside of the bed’s perimeter. They are each other’s entire world. 

Keith also thinks they should have chosen a safe word.

He hovers over Shiro on shaky arms, narrow hips forcing the older man’s legs wider and further against his chest. His cock lays heavily just below his navel, waiting. “Tell me what you want, Shiro,” Keith mouths against Shiro’s ear. 

“I don’t _care_. Just — ”

“That’s not an answer.”

Shiro whimpers.

Keith pulls back and looks at his Shiro with a wild, predatory gaze. “Ask for something you’ve always wanted. Something you’ve never asked anyone else. Anything. I’d do anything for you, Shiro,” Keith swears.

He doesn’t expect for Shiro to come up with anything particularly creative or bizarre. The man is clearly beyond most of his mental faculties. He expects Shiro to ask for his mouth or for Keith to sit on his cock and ride him. He doesn’t look forward to struggling out of his suit if that’s what Shiro asks for, but Keith plans to make good on his promise in any way possible.

Instead, Shiro floors him with the unexpected.

“Fuck me,” he says. There is a clarity in Shiro’s eyes when the words leave his mouth; a sliver of his usual confidence.

Keith knows what he means even though there is room for interpretation. But the request won’t sink in. His brain hesitates to process it. 

After a long, weighty moment, Keith swallows hard and urges, “Say that again.” He needs to make sure he understands. Explicitly so.

Shiro second guesses himself and his boldness evaporates. “I want — it’s okay if you don’t — ”

He takes Shiro by the jaw, “Say it again. Ask me again.”

The paladin’s unsure expression betrays the vulnerability he tries to hide. Keith knows why. He doesn’t have to explain. Keith understands in the way Shiro proudly holds his shoulders and takes up space. He exudes masculinity in droves, uses it to climb ladders and demand respect from superiors. It isn’t false bravado. Shiro lives his life relatively unapologetic, but stigmas and surface level judgments are hard to fight against. Even for people with cores of steel. Keith wants nothing more than to shatter whatever insecurities have been keeping Shiro from asking for what he wants. 

“Shiro.”

Emotion breaks through when the older man says, “P-Please fuck me.”

And that’s all it takes.

Keith has never given before. But he has learned more than a few maneuvers from just observing and experiencing Shiro. He hooks his strong hands in the junctures under Shiro’s knees and pushes his long legs further against his chest. Shiro is athletic and flexible, so he folds without much force. His arms are still trapped under his back but being propped up in Keith’s lap relieves some of the biting pressure from the cuffs. But that’s hardly the point of the position shift.

The angle puts Keith’s bulge in line with Shiro’s ass. With a few less layers, he could easily slip inside and give them both a relief they so desperately crave. He wants it just as much as Shiro does. He breathes steam just thinking about it and something savage sparks a new fire in his eyes. Keith imagined it once or twice, but wrote it off as an unlikely fantasy. Because Shiro wasn’t into that. Or so he thought.

“This how you want it?” Keith grins.

He drives his hips down as a test and the mattress creaks with the force. Keith can practically feel what their joining will be like — so hot and tight, with Shiro’s shuddering around him. What he doesn’t have to fantasize, is the sound Shiro will make. The paladin cries out on impact, loud and indecent. Shiro’s usual sounds are mostly confined to low moans and breathy gasps. But Keith is sure his sudden cry could be heard from down the hallway. Shiro presses his lips shut, embarrassed by his own outburst. 

Keith, on the other hand, is very encouraged.

But, as eager as Keith is to try their new dynamic and to give Shiro exactly what he wants, he hesitates to break a new barrier when Shiro is so fragile. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him, no matter how physically and verbally willing Shiro is. The paladin isn’t locked in his room or handcuffed by choice. It is one thing to ease his stress and touch him. It is another matter entirely to cash in on his susceptibility and engage in something so profoundly intimate as being Shiro’s first. As far as Keith knows, at least. And Keith would also hate to cheapen the moment. Shiro is the love of his life. He deserves nothing less than to be exquisitely ruined.

So Keith will do his best with the limitations he sets. He’ll show Shiro what it will be like when they do collide. He'll show Shiro how fucking good it will be.

The young Blade grips Shiro’s legs tight and grinds their clothed hips together in earnest. The rough, dense fabric of the Marmoran suit grazes against Shiro’s exposed cock when he leans in to capture Shiro’s lips with his own. The paladin has no way to fight the crushing weight or the teeth that latch onto his bottom lip. He can only lay there, practically folded in half, pounded against the bed, and take it. Which Keith figures is exactly what he wants. Shiro wants someone else to make the decision for him; to take the responsibility of his own pleasure from his hands.

Keith breaks the kiss to refocus. As simple and crude as dry humping is, it’s still effective. He can feel his own climax approaching at a breakneck speed and he wills it back. He simply refuses to cum before Shiro.

Soon, Keith knocks a cry from Shiro with each thrust of his hips. The paladin is flushed from his chest to his face, white tuft of hair plastered to his forehead by sweat, and high on the mere idea of being fucked. The small room is filled with a chorus of Keith’s low, winded grunts and Shiro’s rhythmic stream of pleasured cries. If anyone hears, Keith is beyond caring because he is too far gone; too wrapped up in the stunning, debauched vision of Takashi Shirogane.

“K-Keith, _ah_ , not enough! I need — _hm!_ — your — ”

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” Keith growls. He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. It’s the voice of someone brutal — much more impressive than he is.

Keith pries himself away from Shiro’s warmth and it physically hurts. But he doesn’t waste any time. Just as his name hopelessly tumbles from Shiro’s lips, Keith folds one of the paladin’s legs, takes his hips, and rolls him over. Shiro instinctively stays up on his knees, but without arms to brace himself against, his face falls into the pillow. He turns his cheek to the cushion to suck in a gasp.

Keith’s pounding heart goes berserk. Where the handcuffs originally made Keith upset, the sight of the metal holding Shiro’s strong arms back drives him wild. He wishes he could tear Shiro’s shirt off, so he could see his bare, wide shoulders, and the ripple of muscle beneath his skin as he struggles. Instead, he has to settle for snaking a hand beneath two layers, sliding a palm against the sweat drenched small of Shiro’s back, and pressing.

“Down,” he demands.

Shiro sobs, but his legs spread further open on command and knees press wide into the mattress. In the position he’s in, Keith knows Shiro’s cock hangs down heavy between his legs, the tip leaking against the comforter. The friction there might be enough. 

Keith grips Shiro by the hips, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his black pants for a little more leverage. The older man’s pants press tight around his ass and Shiro doesn’t even have to be naked for Keith to see everything. He lines up, gives Shiro a few seconds to feel the hard on rub the crease between his cheeks.

“How’s this?” he asks.

And instead of thrusting forward, Keith grips hard and pulls Shiro back. People underestimate Keith's strength because of his slender, lithe figure. But lean muscle gives way to a force not to be reckoned with. His team knows this. Shiro knows this. Still, a shocked, strangled sound punches out of Shiro on the first thrust. Keith is careful not to hurt himself on accident; Shiro is tight and well built and that leaves little room for soft padding. Keith rolls his hips with each meeting to soften the impact.

It’s his fantasy come to life. Fucking Shiro from behind, anchored to his perfect hips, and pounding at whatever pace he chooses as the paladin muffles yearning cries into his pillow. If he has trouble now, Keith can’t imagine what his stamina will be like when he’s inside the man. _Inside_. Just the thought makes him throw his head back and moan.

Eventually, Shiro ruts back on his own. Determined to find some relief, he bucks against Keith with a frenzied, singular purpose. The young Blade steadies his own hips and lets Shiro chase whatever he needs. Keith doesn’t have much more control left anyway.

“Ah! Ah! Keith! Please! Fuck! Fuck!” Shiro cries. And Keith knows they’ve reached the peak.

He leans over Shiro’s back and plants one hand into the sheets. Keith barely notices the way his fingertips dig into the bed, ripping holes into the blankets and sinking deep into the padded mattress. He doesn’t have time to worry about that.

His other hand reaches under Shiro’s writhing body and takes him in hand. Keith doesn’t even have to move. He just holds loosely, allowing Shiro’s own movements to push his cock back and forth between Keith’s fingers. He buries his face against Shiro’s neck, breathes in deep and chants, “C’mon, Shiro. C’mon. C’mon. Cum for me.”

Shiro pulses against his palm and Keith let’s himself go.

It is a messy and ungraceful affair, but it’s exactly what they both need. Pure, uncomplicated relief. Shiro presses his face into the pillow with a moan that shakes Keith to the core as he empties into the sheets. The last rushes pulse and drip over the back of his hand, warm and obscene and Keith never wants it to stop. 

Keith cums with his cock still trapped inside his suit. It’s hot and wet, but the uniform is so tight it doesn’t really matter. His undergarments soak up the fluid and keep it in place. It won’t be pleasant to deal with later, but when shaking and riding the high of an orgasm, Keith doesn’t particularly care.

Shiro collapses boneless against the bed and Keith drops on top of the paladin, panting and spent. 

They lay together in a pile for a few moments. Shiro turns his head and gasps in the room’s cool air. Keith’s ears ring. A long minute passes before either of them move.

Keith is the first to do so. When he sits back on his haunches, still kneeling between Shiro’s spread legs, Keith’s senses come back to him. The guilt comes back as well. He gazes down at the metal cuffs settled heavily against Shiro’s back. The paladin doesn’t pull against them anymore. He probably doesn’t have the strength. High on his own satisfaction and his gratuitous love for Shiro, Keith gives in.

He taps the screen, keys in the proper code, and the cuffs hiss as the pressure releases. It unlatches in two pieces, like a metal mold, and Keith puts both plates aside as Shiro takes his arms back with a moan. The cuffs clatter weightily among Keith’s armor.

He waits for Shiro to snap; to turn on him with sharp, unfamiliar eyes. But he never does. Shiro just allows his strained arms to rest against the bed and breathes. When he doesn’t even make a move to take off the suppressor on his Galran arm, Keith does that too. The clamp releases with a click and the magenta light dims as Shiro’s robotic arm powers down. It suddenly feels very dark and cold. But Keith thinks that may be the sweat cooling on his back. He tosses the cuff aside as well.

“You okay?” Keith asks and leans down to kiss the nape of Shiro’s neck.

Shiro makes an affirmative noise and then, “So warm.”

He can tell the older man’s eyes are open, hazy but blinking. Shiro almost never sleeps after sex. It usually invigorates him and he heads to the training deck almost immediately afterward. Now, he is uncommonly lethargic.

“Here,” Keith says, and gently removes Shiro’s vest one arm at a time. The floor has become littered with discarded items and the vest joins them. Keith runs his fingers along Shiro’s spine and he gets the message. The paladin pushes himself up on weak, shaky arms. It takes a Herculean amount of effort and Keith helps by wrapping his hands around Shiro’s middle and pulling him back against his chest. He peels the soaked compression shirt from Shiro’s skin and the man sighs when the garment clears his head. 

Keith eases his partner back down and lays down at his side, closest to the wall. Shiro let’s his legs slide out from underneath him to lay flat, careless of his mess in the sheets.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Keith traces his fingertips in patterns along Shiro’s naked back, feels the way his breathing slows and steadies. The man has his face turned the other way, out toward the room, so Keith can’t read his thoughts. Keith prays he hasn’t disappointed Shiro. Or worse, agitated the tension between them.

“I will do it,” he finally says to the back of Shiro’s head. “I’m not gonna hold back next time.”

Shiro shuffles. He turns his face, right cheek pressed against the pillow as he regards his partner with a soft, open expression. Keith is relieved to see that it’s still his Shiro. “Okay,” says the man. No disappointment, no regret, just composure and calm. 

Keith shifts closer and jokes, “Just don’t laugh when I finish fast.”

For the first time since Keith entered the room, Shiro really smiles. Warm and pleasant like the morning sun through windswept leaves. Keith’s chest tightens and he feels himself getting emotional again. 

“Like what happened to me that first time in the cargo bay?” Shiro asks.

“Oh, much worse."

They smile at one another and Keith thinks the moment might be the one he was waiting for. He swallows, tries to find the words on the tip of his tongue. But then Shiro gracefully closes his eyes and Keith changes his mind. He watches Shiro’s serene features; his long eyelashes resting against his cheek, the curve of his lips, the imperfect mole on his temple.

“I see you,” Keith says, “Right now.”

Shiro’s eyes open. “I see you too...wasn’t sure for a second.”

Keith is thrown for a loop. “What do you mean?”

Shiro sucks in a breath, like he wants to take back what he said. He places his human hand on Keith’s waist and shakes his head against the pillow. “It’s nothing.”

“Shiro.”

The paladin licks his lips. “Your eyes. When I asked you to, you know, give it to me — ” Keith might have been charmed by his shyness had the subject been different. “ — they turned yellow.”

The young Blade stills, eyes wide and Shiro quickly adds, “It's dark. I probably imagined it.”

Keith doesn’t know what to do with the information. It’s something completely new. He knows, immediately, why it might happen. They ride around in giant robot lions and deal with Altean magic — his eye color changing is not so far fetched. But Keith doesn’t necessarily like it. He is trying to bridge the gap, stitch together the unknown history of his past and come to terms with it. That’s what his Blade training and missions are for. But still.

His eyes fall on finger sized holes in the bed between them. Lacerated and jagged slices in the sheets look more like the work of an animal than a human. Keith places his blunt fingers on the slashes and tugs at a frayed thread. “Probably,” he echoes. “Or maybe we both have some identity problems to sort out.”

Shiro places his hand over Keith’s, lacing their fingers together loosely. “Maybe.”

They both have so much soul searching to do. Keith is grateful he doesn’t have to do it alone.

“Stay for a day or two?” Shiro asks, “Think Kolivan can spare it?”

“I’m not going to give him a choice,” Keith grins.

Time is lost to them. Allura and the team anxiously await news on Shiro’s wellbeing, but they will simply have to wait a little longer. In their own selfish slice of the universe, Shiro and Keith can do whatever they want.

“Keith?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hump Day. ;)  
> Might do a follow chapter if I'm feelin it.
> 
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